Man of the House
by thisislandgirl
Summary: He’s only ten, just coming of age, he should be out playin’ ball. But it’s hard to be a kid when you’re the man of the house. wee!chesters, Dean is 10 and Sam is 6


**Man of the House**

**Rating:** PG

**Fandom:** Supernatural

**Characters:** wee!chesters (Dean 10, Sam 6), John

**Warnings:** none

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Winchesters or the song.

**Summary:** He's only ten, just coming of age, he should be out playin' ball. But it's hard to be a kid when you're the man of the house.

**oOoOoOoOoOo**

When the alarm goes off at 6AM, it's with a plaintive groan that Dean wakes. Mindful of the sleeping body next to him, Dean rolls over and slaps at the alarm, quickly turning it off. Sammy doesn't need to be awake yet. Dislodging his brother's koala-like form from him, Dean climbs out of bed and shuffles quietly out to the living room where his father is sleeping on the couch.

With a quick shake of his head, Dean turns off the TV, kicking beer bottles and strewn papers out of his way as he goes. He pulls a blanket up over his father's sleeping form and pulls the dirty boots of his feet. Once a pillow is tucked carefully under his head and Dean is sure his father is comfortable, he sets about cleaning up the house. Bottles and cans to the recycling. Dad's research papers separated from the newspaper and Sam's homework, and tucked safely in Dad's journal. The newspapers are stacked at the far end of the table and Sam's homework is laid carefully on the clean end of the counter. Last night's dinner dishes, as well as those from a few days ago, are starting to smell so Dean quickly washes them up.

The clock reads 7:12am when Dean gets out of the shower. He's a few minutes behind today, he realizes. He should have set the alarm earlier. He barely spares time to dry off before he's dressed and climbing on top of the bed and shaking his sleeping brother.

"Hey Sammy. Time to rise and shine."

Sam's bleary eyes open, blinking owlishly for a moment before he's fully awake and nodding at Dean. Dean ruffles his brother's hair playfully as he says, "Get dressed then come out and I'll get you breakfast."

He set Sam's clothes out last night, neatly folded on the desk next to Sam's already packed backpack. Dean's is sitting on the floor, packed and ready to go. He learned quickly that if he didn't have everything ready the night before it was usually him who forgot a book or a homework assignment. He pulls both bags onto his shoulder and heads back out to the living room.

Two bowls of Lucky Charms are poured, one sitting on the table with a glass of orange juice for Sammy. The other stays on the counter next to the stove. Dean stills needs to make Dad breakfast and pack their lunches; he doesn't get to sit down for breakfast today. Two eggs and the last piece of bacon are sizzling in the frying pan, when Sammy finally comes out, shirt un-tucked, shoe laces undone and his hair sticking out in all directions.

Dean shakes his head and abandons his breakfast as he hustles Sam back into the bathroom to get him all fixed up. It's 7:45am when they come back out of the bathroom, Sam's hair in place, his shirt tucked in, and his shoes neatly tied. Dean hopes he looks half as neatly dressed as Sam does by this point. But he can't spare more than a moment's thought on it as he rushes Sam through his breakfast. He tucks their lunches into their respective bags, making sure Sam's homework makes it to the right folder, and puts on a pot of coffee.

"Dad." He hates waking his Dad up after he's had a bad night, but Dean knows its just part of the routine. He gives his father another shake, desperation to get his father awake before they leave makes the shake a little rougher than normal but it does the trick. His father's eyes crack open and stare at him curiously.

"Sammy and I are off to school, Dad. Your breakfast is on the stove."

No hugs or kisses good-bye, just a nod of approval. Dean doesn't spare that a moments thought either. It's just the Winchester way. Plus he and Sam are late. Scribbling down a quick list of the things they need from the grocery store, Dean places it next to his Dad's plate before he and Sam are out of the house just in time to catch the bus.

**oOoOoOoOoOo**

Afternoons are no picnic either. Dean is out of his seat as soon as the bell rings. It's not that he's truly eager to leave his friends and head home. But he knows if he doesn't head Sam off, his little brother will make is way to the playground with his friends. And then he won't want to leave. And that means Dean will get home late and make dinner late and that means staying up later to finish homework he could have gotten done earlier.

And that was just not gonna fly today.

So Dean grabs his bag off the back of his chair and practically runs out of the room tossing half-lies about too much homework over his shoulder to his friends. _Hey Dean! Wanna come play ball later? Dean, I just got a new video game. You have to come over and play it sometime! When can you come and hang out Dean? Why don't you play with us, Dean?_ Because he can't. He wants to go play baseball or football or Super Mario with his friends, but Dad and Sammy need him. So he just can't.

By the time Dean catches sight of Sam, he's halfway across the macadam parking lot heading straight for the playground. It takes only a short sprint to catch up with Sam, grabbing his shoulder and steering him back towards the front of the school and towards home. "Come on Sammy, time to head home."

"But Dean! I wanna play. Please? Just a few minutes!" Sam's lower lip pouts out, his hazel eyes blown wide in the picture of innocence. Dean was sure if Sam were a little more aware of the art of persuasion, he would have quivered his lip just for effect. But Dean was resilient to the look and just shook his head.

"Not today Sam. Dad has to work tonight and I have to get home to make dinner. Plus, I have a lot of homework tonight." Keeping a firm hand on Sam's shoulder, they make their way back home.

Dad is no where to be seen when they get back, but that is okay with Dean. He turns on cartoons for background noise as he sets Sammy up at the table with a snack and his homework. Then he goes off in search of something to make for dinner. By the looks of it, Dad had gone to the store and dropped off the groceries before he'd left once again, most likely doing research.

By the time 5:30pm rolls around, Sam has finished his homework and is settling in to watch his second round of cartoons. Dean has dinner nearly ready and is hoping that Dad will be home soon. He hates when he has to reheat dinner for Dad; it's better fresh. He's just starting to poke around his homework when the Impala rumbles to a stop in front of the house.

Sam looks up at Dean, pouting again, but Dean just gives him a stern look and motions for him to turn the TV off. Sure Sam is only 6, but Dad hates it when Sam 'wastes time' by watching cartoons. Dean only lets him when Dad isn't home and he is too busy to read to Sammy or keep him occupied with other things. Dad comes in a few minutes later, tossing a folder onto the counter before making his way back to his bedroom without a word.

Dean gets dinner on the table and helping Sam wash up at the kitchen sink when Dad comes back out. He looks much calmer, almost relaxed as he sits down at the table. Dad chats with him and Sam about school, Sam taking up most of the conversation with what happened at recess. But that's okay with Dean, he's too wired to make decent conversation. Dad must notice because he asks Dean just to clear the dinner dishes then tells him to go and do his homework. Dad scoops up Sammy and takes him to the couch to once again give him the shoe-tying lesson.

Dean obeys, stacking the dirty dishes in the sink and putting away the leftovers. It isn't until he's turning back around to wipe off the table that he sees the folder his father had earlier. He doesn't like to snoop into his father's hunting things, Dad will tell him what he wants Dean to know, but a paper is sticking out and the words are just begging Dean to read them.

Checking to make sure Dad is still occupied with Sam, he slips the paper a little further out of the folder and skims over the text there. Halfway down the page a highlighted word catches Dean's attention. _Werewolves_. Dad's hunting werewolves tonight? Of all the creepy, supernatural creatures Dean knows about, werewolves are the ones that scare him the most. A shiver scuttles up his spine as he recalls them from a movie he'd seen.

Shoving the paper haphazardly back into the folder, Dean quickly forgot the rest of the dishes on the table in his haste to get to his room. He locks the door even though he knows Dad forbids it and flings himself down face first onto his bed. It takes a moment before the first sob comes, he barely had time to shove his face into his pillow to muffle it. He doesn't want to let his Daddy down, can't let them see him cry, but he's scared. Scared for his father. He knows that what his Dad does is dangerous, but werewolves … they're just different. They were something Dean knew about before Dad told him, they were vicious killing machines.

A few minutes later, Dean is sure he's cried all his fear and anxiety out. Only a few hiccups and silent tears remain when he pulls himself off the bed and unlocks the door. He flips the pillow to hide the tears and smoothes out the wrinkles on the blankets before he sits down at the desk and starts his homework.

Around 8:00pm Dad knocks softly on the door before pushing it open. Dean knows its him, Sammy just barges in, and sets down his pencil and closes his textbook he'd just been staring at for the passed hour. He hopes his eyes aren't as bloodshot and swollen as they feel, but the look on his Dad's face when he finally looks up tells him other wise. Subconsciously he rubs hand over each cheek like there were stray tears there ready to give him away. But Dad just gives him a soft smile and ruffles a hand through his hair.

"Sammy's ready for his bath when you're done. I'm gonna head out. You know the rules." His voice is soft but stern when he says that. And Dean does know. Lock and salt the door and windows. Don't answer the phone. Don't answer the door. Keep the shotgun loaded and next to the bed. Shoot first, ask questions later. Watch after Sam. He knows it already, but silently nods as Dad lists off each thing as if it were his first time.

"Okay, Dad. I got it." He watches as his Dad heads out of his room, then whispers under his breath, "Be careful Dad."

He gives Sam a bath and has him in bed by 9pm. Its later than usual but Sam gets to sleep in tomorrow so he doesn't think it really matters. Once Sam is finally sleep, after three stories and round of questions about where Dad is working tonight, Dean takes his books back out to the living room and finishes up his homework. He leaves the TV on for noise as he washes up the dishes and cleans up the living room and folds the laundry he forgot about this afternoon.

Once he's sure he's done everything, Dean heads to bed. The clock reads 11:49pm.

**oOoOoOoOoOo**

_Thud._

Its only a soft noise but it is enough to bring Dean fully out of a sound sleep. He lays on his back, eyes wide open and ears straining to hear for the sound again. He's about to dismiss it when he hears another sound. Scratching. Metal against metal. And it's coming from outside the house.

Dean slides out of bed soundlessly and creeps over to the window. He can't see anything outside their room so he draws the blinds and grabs the shotgun. He hates how the floorboards creak and groan under his weight, distracting, but he is able to make out where the sounds are coming from. The front door.

He checks the gun, making sure its loaded, before he brings it to his shoulder and waits. He stands firm at the other end of the living room, eyes and gun trained dead center on the shadowed form moving outside. After a tense moment, the door swings open and the light is flicked on. Dean blinks in surprise, willing his eyes to adjust fast, when he recognizes the form of his father. Dad blinks in surprise for a moment before he smirks and turns around to relock the door.

Dean drops the gun, letting it bang softly to the floor, relief coursing through him. But it only lasts a second until he catches sight of his father's bloody arm. He swallows thickly and looks at his father in concern.

"I think I'm gonna need your help Dean. Only if you're up to it, though." Dad had been teaching him about hunting, how to track, how to shoot, how to patch up wounds. He'd even sown a whole chicken back together with rows of tiny, straight stitches. But that was a dead chicken. This was his father. He wanted to say no, that Dad could do this himself like he'd done countless times before. That was until Dean realized it was Dad's right arm that was injured.

Dad needed his help. Dean wouldn't disappoint.

He nodded stiffly before he disappeared into the bathroom, coming out a minute later with the needed supplies and an emptier stomach. Warm water, a shot of holy water for insurance, antiseptic, needle and thread, then a neatly wrapped gauze bandage and Dad was as good as new.

"Good job, Dean." Dad smiled at him, eyes warm with love and a shot of whiskey to edge off the pain.

Dean just ducked his head and started to clean up the bloody towels, but a hand on his arm stopped him. Looking up, he saw his Dad staring down at him in a look Dean definitely couldn't peg down. Maybe amazement, a little amusement, something close to satisfaction, but definitely love.

"I mean it Dean. You do a good job, and not just with stitches." He doesn't say it, but Dean knows what he means. A good job raising Sammy, taking care of them all, picking up the slack that his Dad has dropped, being the man of the house. He wants to say 'yes, sir' and wait for his next order like a good little soldier, but he knows by the look his father is giving him that one isn't coming. This is slightly unfamiliar territory as of late. When Mama was around they hugged and said 'I love you' freely. But not anymore.

Abruptly Dean's thoughts were cut off as Dad pulled him into a hug, a real honest to goodness hug. Dad's lips pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head as he whispered huskily, "I love you, Dean. I'm so proud of you."

Dean wrapped his arms around his Dad's neck and held on for all he was worth. "I love you too, Daddy."

**oOoOoOoOoOo**

**A/N:** The title of the song, as well as the idea for the song, is from Chuck Wick's "Man of the House". 

And don't forget: feedback is love


End file.
